


Bio-shorts

by Stuart James (Stoob)



Category: BioShock, BioShock Infinite
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stoob/pseuds/Stuart%20James
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shorties of the Bioshock universe(s?).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Having played Bioshock Infinite, I'd been pondering the scene in Bioshock:2 where Andrew Ryan suddenly stops the ship mid-Atlantic and announces, "Here!" as though he knew where he was going, and also the multi-verse madness that Infinite has created.

The old man pours his cup of coffee in his run-down shack then sits on a storage crate to speak with his son.

“You leave for the United States of America soon, yes?”

“Yes, father. I shall make my fortune, of that I am sure.”

“Good!” he says with vigour, then more subdued, “Good. Good...”

He looks to his son amongst sighs as he starts then stops to speak a few times.

“Father?” his son asks.

“Remember the stories I told you of a city floating in the sky?”

“Of course, I loved those stories as a child.”

The old man stands and goes to a locker where he keeps his valuables, takes out a logbook then sits again.

“Those were not stories. I was there, though I don't understand it entirely myself. It's all so... confused. There was a conflict, I remember, but not the details...”

“You were there?”

“Yes, or at least I think I was. It was a strange and confusing time. But I have this.”

He shows the cover of the logbook: 'Columbia'.

“This is the logbook from one of the Zeppelins that flew in the Columbia fleet. It details co-ordinates for all notable events. If important technology fell from the city, the co-ordinates were logged in case it needed to be retrieved. The technology could not be allowed to be in the hands of those below. Here.”

He flicks through a few pages, then shows an entry to his son.

“Here at this spot over the Atlantic, vigors were lost. They fell to the ocean so no retrieval was required.”

“Vigors?”

“Yes. I remember men, firing lightning and fire from their fingers. Like magic! But not. I can almost remember... then it's gone. But these powers, they lie at the bottom of the sea.”

“Father. Your nose is bleeding.”

“I'm okay. It happens from time to time.”

“But what do you want me to do with this?”

“Go to America, become rich as you say you will. Then find these amazements, and lock them away down there, they must never return to the people. They are evil!”

“But... to reach the bottom of the Atlantic ocean? No such feat as been performed before!”

“A city was built in the sky. Why not at the bottom of the sea? You must protect these vigors from evil men, please, promise me.”

“Andrew Ryan does not decide who will have and who will not, only that they are willing to earn it. If these vigors truly exist, they sound like the future of mankind and endless wealth.”

“No! Please! You cannot.”

“I grow tired of being told what I can and cannot do. The governments of this world throttle and stifle meaningful progress for fear of losing their own grip. No more!”

...

Andrew practices his golf in his office, his favourite putter serving him well. His wealth has been amassed, his underwater city built, but still no amazements.

“Mister Ryan?” his researcher, Doctor Tenenbaum enters.

“Yes...?” he says, aiming up his next putt.

“The slug creatures we discovered.”

“Hmm?”

“They seem to have... 'properties'.”

“'Properties', you say?”

“Yes, like an energy fused into their very being.”

“Energy?” he says as he mis-hits the ball and it skews off to the side, then turns his attention more fully, “What kind of energy?”

“The potential I've studied so far, I've never seen anything like it.”

“And live experiments?”

“Oh...”

“Is that an issue, Doctor?”

“Mmm... no... I suppose not...”

“Good. I've a sneaking suspicion that this energy may augment men, let that concept lead your investigations.”

“Do you know what this is already, Mister Ryan?”

“No. How could I? I just have a feeling.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I can smell angels, daddy!” and the little girl runs through the doorway excitedly.

The huge beast lumbers on behind her, his footsteps thudding and clunking through the corridors. The girl holds her hands to her chest with a giggle in anticipation of a new angel to play with in this former foyer, then kneels to pierce the flesh with her bottle's needle. A clunking sound behind causes her to look to see that the door has shut, her daddy the other side.

“Well looky what we got here.” a splicer with torn cheeks and half a jaw approaches from out of a dark corner.

“Come on, sweety. Let's have a taste.” another dressed in twin set and pearls attempts to coax her. Her attire and her face disagree with each other, half of her skin burnt solid and waxy.

The girl finds herself surrounded by five of these horrors.

“Daddy!” she screams out but can only hear him pound his fist on the door, crying out desperate deep wails.

Four of the splicers are upon her, holding her down by a limb each and gurning, leering, while the fifth prepares to take back her angels.

“Mister Bubbles!” she tries again.

Daddy always comes. Daddy always saves her.

“Daddy!”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” she says, re-gaining her bearings, “Go back to sleep, dear. I'm just going to get some water.”

“Mmm.” her lover rolls back over.

She gets out of bed and goes down to the kitchen then just stares out of the window a moment but the feeling won't leave her. Taking a glass from the draining board she opens the tap. The falling water rings on the metal sink and the sound goes right through her, like those corridors in disrepair that were once her playground. She looks to the telephone and lets out a long sighing breathe then picks it up to dial.

“Hello? Sorry it's so late.”

“Never a problem. What's up?”

“Oh. Nothing. I just wanted... Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you're alright.”

“Are you alright?”

“I am now. Thanks. And sorry. 'night, Jack.”

“Any time. 'night, honey.”


	3. Chapter 3

Brooke falls but manages to grab at the balcony's handrail of the grand library tower. As she dangles a moment a boy in a sailor suite, holding a book standing at the window looks on with a bemused expression. Brooke recognises him as her quarry, Elijah.

“Ah... hello!” she says.

It seemed right in the moment. The boy screams in terror and Brooke continues her fall, landing with a relatively soft thud. The boy, seemingly more angry than shocked now, throws a book at her from the balcony, then he descends the short stairs to lob further literature.

“Hey!” Brooke shouts with an outstretched hand, “Knock it off!”

The boy approaches low and menacing, picking up another tome for ammo.

“Stop it. Will you stop it?!” she shouts at him, then more calmly, “I'm not here to hurt you.”

“Who are you?!” he says holding aloft a book on the principles of quantum mechanics.

“My name is DeWitt.” she replies, now standing from her fall, “A friend. I've come to get you out-”

“Get away!” the boy shouts, raising the book again.

She holds the boy at bay easily enough. As one of the few women involved with the Pinkertons, she knows how to handle herself. The boy loses heart in the struggle, knowing it is futile, then frowns a curious frown at her, holds out his hand, saying in wonder, “Are you real?”

“Real enough.” Brooke replies with a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry so short. I'd wondered whether the damsel in distress thing was a help or a hindrance to the franchise or gaming in general. Would it work the other way around? I don't see why not. Constants and variables and all that.
> 
> AU Battleship Bay: http://soundclick.com/share.cfm?id=13045465


	4. Chapter 4

The young ladies all wait in the large parlour. They can all still see it in each other's eyes, in their uneasy stances, in the long distant look that they do sometimes.

“Did you make it through college, Amy?” one asks of another.

“Nah.” she replies nonchalantly.

“Oh?”

“Tuned in, dropped out.” she gives a facetious peace-sign with her hand.

“Oh...” she voices disappointment.

“What?”

“I don't know. Just seems like a waste.”

“Seems like a waste?!”

“What? A mind is-”

“Wow! I mean, wow! After all we've been through and you think that's a waste?! Little Miss White Picket Fence?!”

“What? I've always wanted my own family.”

“I thought we were your family.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. Children of my own, who I can give a proper childhood, show the good in the world, not like-”

“Don't.” a seated and more fragile looking woman says.

“What? Don't say that we used be vampires?” the drop-out says, then with glee, “My daddy's smarter than Einstein, stronger than Hercules and lights a fire with a snap of his fingers!”

Her words silence the room and cause the seated woman to fix a manic stare at the floor.

“Amy!”

“What? Tell me that that doesn't still feel good.”

“It's all gratification with you, isn't it?”

“Hey, after what happened at Rapture, I've learned to live in the now.”

The door to the parlour opens and an elderly gentleman merely pops his head around with resigned, raised brows.

“Ladies. It's time.”

The fragile lady stands to cling to the arm of the home-maker.

“Daddy?” she asks of the doctor to confirm what she doesn't want to be true.

“I'm afraid there's not long at all. You may wish to make any goodbyes now.”


	5. Chapter 5

She places the last spoon in the appropriate position as dictated by decorum, then re-arranges all the crockery and cutlery on the parlour table again, ensuring it looks perfect on the checked tablecloth. She's not sure why she feels the need but it seems like an important visit, an honoured guest, even wearing the beige, skirted suit normally reserved for Sundays. The doorbell rings, and she has a short panic as she double checks the table and removes the pinny protecting her clothes then tweaks her hair as she passes in the mirror in the hall. Happy that as much can be done has been done, she continues to the door to answer it. A dark haired woman in jeans and white tee-shirt waits at the door.

“Hello. Eleanor, I presume? Did you find us okay?” she greets her visitor.

“Yes. Thank you.” and Eleanor holds out her hand, “Sally.”

They shake and Sally beckons Eleanor in.

“Come in, come in, I've made scones and I've a kettle on the stove for tea. I hope that's okay.”

“Of course.”

Leading Eleanor to the parlour, Sally hears the kettle's whistle blow.

“Oh! Just a moment. Please, take a seat.” she offers at the well presented table.

Eleanor seats herself, noting the symmetry of the table. Such precision tea reminds her of less enjoyable times with her mother, where she would be required to be quiet and still. No mean feat for any young child.

“Much call for high tea in Maine?” Eleanor asks Sally as she returns with a large teapot, complete with knitted cosy and places it on a place mat on the table.

“Oh. Well. I thought... I hope you don't think me presumptuous but I thought you might like tea. Being... well... English...”

Eleanor laughs.

“Sorry...” Sally says. She's not sure why she wants this to go so well but she feels she's offended now.

“No, no, no!” Eleanor sees her shrivel a little and re-assures her. “It's just been a long time since I was seen as 'English'. Or had tea for that matter.”

“Oh I am sorry, Eleanor. I didn't mean to... I mean, I wanted this to-”

“Hey, hey. It's okay.” Eleanor picks up the teapot. “Shall I be mother?”

Eleanor performs a satisfying high pour into the china cups sitting on matching saucers and Sally picks up the small milk jug, querying with raised brows if Eleanor would like some in her tea.

“Just a splinge.” Eleanor responds.

Their drinks prepared, they sit a moment in silence with occasional time filling sips of tea. Eleanor notes a fragility to Sally, though with her past that would be understandable and Eleanor can fully empathise with that horror.

“Do you ever think about...?” Eleanor begins.

“Please, don't.” Sally stops her as cordially as she can with a blank smile which fixes on her face.

“Oh... I...”

“Let me get the cream for the scones,” Sally stands a little shakily, “Mister Evans from the dairy was kind enough to make me a special order of clotted cream.”

“Wow. You've really gone all out, eh?”

Sally leaves Eleanor at the table who puzzles a moment. It comes naturally to her mother and she, talking about that place and the shared horrors. That Sally seemed to stop any notion entering her head tells Eleanor that not all may have coped as well as she did; despite hating the idea, she has her mother to thank for that. Eleanor gets to the last dregs of her tea, hitting the bitter dust at the bottom. It's been a few minutes now, certainly longer than just grabbing a pot of cream. She goes to the parlour door and to the kitchen to find Sally at the kitchen sink, sobbing hard.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come.” Eleanor says.

Sally turns her head quickly in surprise, then attempts to re-gain some composure, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

“No, I'm sorry.” she says, “I wasn't sure what I expected. Not of you, but... it just reminded me of her.”

“Of who?”

Sally just looks to the floor. No-one knows. The woman who saved her, who she just stood and watched die, so desensitised to the constant death around her. Jack might have saved her from Rapture but that woman saved her life.

“I don't know her name but she helped me... then she was gone.”

“Hm. There were all kinds of characters at Rapture.”

“I don't think she was from Rapture but she... she was... and Jack... ugh... sometimes I think I know then it's gone.”

“Sally, I hope you don't mind me saying but if you ever want to talk about it with someone, I mean I know you can't just go telling anyone about it, it'd sound insane but if you do need to go over it with someone, or just chat, or have tea, I want to help.”

“I remember you, you know.”

“What?”

“From the orphanage.”

“Really? Apart from the odd audio log, I don't re-call much at all about the orphanage beyond vague feelings.”

“Sometimes I remember it quite fondly. Momma Tenenbaum was really good to us, you must remember that.”

“Yea... vaguely...”

“And you were a right bossy boots, always trying to take charge of the Little Sisters!” Sally says more playfully now.

“Ha! If my old logs are anything to go by, I cannot argue with that. Anyway, where's this clotted cream I was promised? I do hope you've some nice jam to go with it.”

“Alright!” Sally concedes as she goes to the fridge, “Strawberry okay, Bossy boots?”

“Is there any other kind?”

“I am glad you came though.” Sally says with a moistened smile. “I've always tried not to think about it but just this brief chat about it makes it feel less heavy but... there's something you should know. Someone came to see me, a reporter I think.”

“Oh?”

“He had... things... from there.”

“From Rapture?”

“Yes. And a painting of her!”

“Hm. Did you say anything?”

“What? No! What could I say? I just panicked and slammed the door.”

“Probably for the best.”

“But what if they investigate, find out what we did?” Sally says with manic concern.

“What we did? Sally, we didn't do anything. Don't feel bad for what they made us do, we were only children. They brain-washed us into doing it.”

“Hmm, but sometimes, I remember what Mister Bubbles did... and what I did... and how much I enjoyed it...”

“I know...”

“I've never felt more safe as I did then. Even when it was horrible.” she says and looks away with frustrated shame.

“I know...” is all that Eleanor can concede. She knows these feelings all too well.

“Sorry, Eleanor. I just wanted a normal afternoon tea and chat but-”

“No,” Eleanor interrupts her with a smile, “I should learn when to keep my big bossy mouth shut. I'm sorry I brought it up, I should have known it might be difficult.”

“No. I have to face it all one day, and thank you, yes, I'd like it if you popped over when you can.”

“Good! So let's get these scones polished off, eh? And I'd wager a fresh pot of tea is needed by now.”

Eleanor pauses a moment, with a ponderous face.

“What is it?” Sally asks.

“Did we used to play tea parties?”

“Yes! All the time! It was everyone's favourite game in the orphanage!”

“I suppose I always wanted to be mother, did I?”

“Ha! Yes.”

“Hm. Weird.”


	6. Chapter 6

Henry returns back to his lair, another day's scavenging amongst the ruins and the damned. Shutting the door, he then puts in place the plank to give further defence and walks into the dark room, crumbled plaster pushed into one corner, in the other Martha kneels over her pistol, placed with reverence on a cushion brushed of debris, singing to it.

_Hush, little baby, don't say a word._  
_Moma's gonna buy you a mockingbird_  
_And if that mockingbird won't sing,_  
_Moma's gonna buy you a diamond ring._

He knows why she does it. Hearing him enter, she turns to look at him with her misshapen waxy face, her sadness ever present.

“Hey.” he greets her.

“Hm.”

“So yea! Good times! Two whole cans of beans, not even rusted on the outside or nothing!”

“Hm.” she barely acknowledges.

They still see it in each other sometimes, the humanity that was lost but still hides and occasionally surfaces from their inner-most consciousness.

“Come on, Martha. We weren't to know.”

“Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it!” she cries out manically.

“Amy was-”

“Amy, Amy, Amy, Amy, Amy! Where's Amy? Where's my baby?! I need Adam, Henry, please! I need more Adam! Please...” Martha pleads, finding too much of the humanity she thought lost.

“Um... but... I've only just been out. I was hoping I wouldn't have to fire my gun today.”

“Fine! I'll do it myself!”

She picks up her gun, places it in her mouth and fires without hesitation, blood and brains splattering the wall and her body falls with a thud.

“Martha? Oh God, Martha, no!” Harry falls to his knees at her body. “It wasn't our fault, Martha! Why'd you have to go and do that? Oh... er... heh... looky here, I had some Adam here all along... hehe...”

He sheepishly pulls the needle from his pocket and pierces her flesh.

“There ya go, that'll fix ya right up! Come on, Martha, old girl, you can't leave me here all by myself.”

After a few minutes of twisted hope, he lays beside her on the ground.

“Why'd ya have to go and do that? I miss her too, you know...”


	7. Chapter 7

“How far must things fall, Andrew? How low until you allow intervention? No man should be unanswerable to their peers.” Sofia says as they pass a Gatherer's Garden still singing out its disturbingly chipper song.

“Who is there to intervene, Sofia? Where are my peers?” Ryan animatedly gesticulates his open arms around himself.

“No gods here, only men.” she says with a wry eye.

“Hm.” he ignores her facetious use of his opening gambit for those passing through the portals to Rapture.

“To you, all are expendable. To me, all are vital.”

“And so you would steer the very resources that make Rapture the free thinking society that it is now towards those too weak to seize this opportunity. It would be beyond waste.” he retorts.

“And what has your free thinking society brought thus far but misery for most? No-one should have power to pre-determine another's fate. Is that not the point of this whole exercise?”

“Yet you would take from those who have earned their stake and give to those who have done nothing. I thought I was free of notions of Communism but here we are.”

“Empathy for those suffering is not Communism, Andrew.”

“And how far does that go? Would you feel bad for surpassing a competitor in the market? Would you attempt to dissuade athletic events for fear of one man rising above his peers? No education to ensure all are equally ignorant?!”

“Tsk. Extremities.”

“But that is exactly what we are dealing with, Doctor Lamb. All. Or nothing.”

“For me, your way, Andrew, there is only nothing.”

“Nothing it is, then.” he holds out an open arm at the cell's entrance. “Doctor Lamb.”


End file.
